


The Duke of Brookland

by uncafeavecbarnes



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Regency, Desi Character, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gossip, Historical Inaccuracy, Inspired by Bridgerton (TV), Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29510514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncafeavecbarnes/pseuds/uncafeavecbarnes
Summary: Spring, 19th Century London. Society is ready to meet its debutantes. And in the centre of London, Stark House of Grosvenor Square is ready. Miss Stark navigates a marriage market in search of a love most pure, romance that surely, James Buchanan Barnes, the Duke of Brookland, must be incapable of?With a meddling Lady Potts, new neighbour Natasha Romanoff, artistically curious Steve Rogers, and persistent Lord Rumlow, all is not as simple as securing a match made in heaven. (This story is inspired by Bridgerton)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 19





	The Duke of Brookland

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my loves. Oh, I am so excited about this one. I am more excited about this story than I have felt for any other writing in the longest time. You have no idea how happy I am to finally be able to share it with you. I absolutely loved Bridgerton and like most people, I wanted to read a Bucky version, but a prompt to The SS HBC finally gave me the push to write it. Thank you to whoever submitted the prompt that sparked this story, while I can't promise regular updates, I will do my best to write it with all my love. Thank you to my ever inspiring friend Eury, for constantly encouraging my ideas and helping me map them, as well being my beta reader.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always welcome. You can also follow me on Tumblr.

**_Spring in London is a work of art. Winter is shaken from the city by cerulean skies, sunshine, cotton clouds. Cherry blossom a poetic ballet. The very dance it performs from branch to pavement a signal of the start of the season. London society is ready to meet its debutantes. And in the centre of London, Stark House of Grosvenor Square is ready._ **

**_Stark, a name well-known in every corner of the city. Desirable enough that many a mama has tried to capture the attention of the three brothers with a daughter. Little luck, no skill at the pianoforte or artistic prowess has availed a proposal. Gossip would blame the eldest of the three. A lack of attention, disinterest in familial obligations, rumours of late nights chasing skirts. The kinder of those sympathise with the loss of Lord Howard and Lady Maria Stark. Tragedy has left a lasting mark, no doubt. One can only hope that better luck will find Miss Stark._ **

“Is our sister quite ready yet?” 

“You should know better than to ask.”

“Oh? I suppose this is why they call you the clever one.”

“No, they call me the clever one for more reasons than this.”

“You’re both as stupid as each other.”

Steve and Bruce turn and a hush falls over them. Bruce sets his science journal aside, rising out of his chair to stand beside his brother. Steve seems to straighten his shoulders, all the more attentive now there’s good reason to be. And despite their differences, the one thing they share in common is the pride in their smiles for their sister.

You’re a vision. A dress of ivory tulle, layers of chiffon that float along the marble staircase. Looped through your arms is a modest _dupatta_ , simple trimmings that complement your shoes. Delicate footsteps, a silk gloved hand gripping the rail. The merest glimpse in the mirror at yourself in a dress adorned with gold motifs and embroidered with jewels. Jewels that don’t sparkle half as bright as the diamonds clasped around your neck. Diamonds that aren’t half as beautiful as your smile. You certainly don’t need your brothers’ approval, but the look in your eyes appreciates it nonetheless.

“And I,” you finish teasingly as you stop before them. “I am the cleverest of all.”

“I don’t know about that,” Steve’s own tease is followed by a kiss on your cheek. “But you are the handsomest of us all.”

Bruce is in agreement, though, he is far gentler in his expression. He reaches for your hand, squeezing briefly in that comforting way he knows you favour. Yet, it only lasts a moment before you’re ushered out of the door. You glance around the entrance hall and as large as it is, it would be impossible to miss who you look for. You can only conclude your suspicions are true.

“He’s not here, sister.” Steve confirms, noticing your gaze.

“Where is he?” you demand, careful to keep your dress proper as you climb into the carriage. “He promised he would be here.”

“I don’t know.”

Bruce is quick to sense the tension and offers to sit with you in the carriage while Steve rides ahead. Company you’re grateful for, he soothes your fears with the reminder that it’s a big day for you. Stress won’t do you any good and any worries about your big brother shouldn’t blemish the genuine smile on your face. And as right as Bruce is, you can’t help but voice your concerns. Should Tony wish to uphold his title as Viscount, he should accept the responsibility of it. If for no other reason, than you.

**_Dearest Gentle Reader, you will no doubt notice the current absence of Lord Anthony Stark and the significance of this will be explained as our young Miss Stark embarks on the journey to Hampton Court Palace._ **

**_As the eldest of the three brothers, duty befalls our Viscount. Lord Anthony is the last of the Stark bloodline, the only son of the late Howard and Maria Stark. Though a prolific family, the Starks have always been noticeably progressive, causing quite the stir with the adoption of not one, not two, but three children as siblings to Anthony. Three siblings entrusted to him after a tragic accident that still haunts him. Alone and bitter, it is not uncommon to find Lord Anthony nursing his sorrows in a glass of sherry at the boys club._ **

**_Reader, be kind, he is not a drunkard, but nothing can excuse him of his responsibilities, most importantly, to Miss Stark. Securing her a good husband will only provide her with good fortune and a good future. This remains to be seen, our story is still young and by the time you have read this, dearest gentle reader, you will find that Miss Stark has finally arrived at Hampton Court Palace and we must return to her._ **

Hampton Court Palace. Your first sight takes your breath away. Eagerness draws you forward, almost too far out of the carriage window and Bruce chuckles. Your smile is tinged with only mild embarrassment, far outweighed by your excitement. Fingers gripping Steve’s hand a tad too forcefully as he helps you from the carriage. He’s strong enough to take it without any complaint, exchanging a smile with Bruce at seeing you so happy. And your own smile falters for a moment at the call of your name.

“You’re looking dashingly beautiful, sister.”

“Tony?” you ask, mouth ajar in surprise. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“And miss the most important day of your life?” he replies, the corner of his mouth twitching in a grin. “Well, besides your wedding, of course.”

Steve diffuses the scene, firmly urging Tony to not hasten your wedding for the sake of it. Not that it’s much of a deterrent, Tony flashes you a discreet wink as he offers his arm and with an equally playful expression, you accept it. Bickering is part of your relationship with your eldest brother, but you know he has a good heart, the same as you. As any loving brother, he cares for you. And as any loving sister, you care for him, too.

“Perhaps one of these lovely ladies is to be my sister-in-law,” you whisper, leaning in close to Tony. “Do any catch your eye?”

It’s a purposeful question. One designed to gauge a reaction. After all, Tony is perhaps the most eligible bachelor in all of London. Even he cannot be oblivious to all the eyes in his direction, from daughters and mothers alike. Attention has always been a source of enjoyment for him and yet, you’re quite sure he’s impartial to it right now. It’s rather easy to excuse it away, today being your debut, but you know him well enough to recognise when he’s being evasive. 

A hand on yours distracts you and you turn. Wanda, your neighbour across the square. A good friend, too. Close enough to consider her a sister, a breath of fresh air amongst three older brothers. You share a quick but quiet greeting, wishing each other luck. It’s all the moment will allow, her name is called and she steps into place beside her brother, Pietro. And oh, how you wish you were allowed to see her debut.

“Are you ready?” Tony asks, assuming his place by your side. “You look ready.”

“Then, I look better than I feel.”

Ornate doors are all that separate you from the Queen and her audience. The moment you’ve been preparing for only mere seconds away. You’re short of breath, nothing to do with the tight corset under your dress and all to do with nerves that swirl in your tummy. You blink, try to swallow the lump that builds in your throat, urge your beating heart to slow. And in a moment of surprise, Tony calms you.

“Mother and father would be proud of you.”

Tony says the words with such pride and honesty, leaving no room for any doubt. And you’re about to thank him, but your name is called and as if on instinct, you compose yourself. You  _ are _ ready.

“Miss Stark, presented by her brother, the Right Honourable Lord Stark!”

Oh, it’s  _ surreal _ . Sunshine streams through the windows, light cast over your smile. Perfectly postured, dress cascading around you with every gentle step. The skirt swirls around you, as soft as the smile you offer the Queen. You dare not look away, a confident respect for her in your eyes. Kind as she is, her approval will make or break your reputation and you depend on a good reception. She gives little away, only the tiniest shift to straighten in her chair and you try not to read into it. And when you finally stop, you’re breathless. Careful to lower your gaze as you stoop to curtsy.

Seconds pass, perhaps even minutes. You can only hope your nerves don’t betray you. Spine prickling hotly at the roomful of diligent eyes on you. Deafeningly quiet, you would hear a pin drop. And still nothing, but you dare not move. You don’t even dare to glance at Tony, still holding his deep bow. Baited breath that rushes out when a shadow falls over you. Your heart is racing even faster as a finger cups your chin and you rise with permission. Queen Frigga smiles at you. 

“Flawless, my dear.”

**_It has been said that an idle mind is the devil’s playground and that idle hands are the devil’s tools. If that is so, then dearest gentle reader, you will allow me to put pen to paper and mind to work. Perhaps you are wondering who has such time or means. Rest assured, though my knowledge of you is plentiful, you shall never know of me. First impressions matter, of course. My name is Lord Jarvis._ **

“Lord Jarvis? I don’t know any Lord Jarvis, do you?”

“The only man’s name I want to hear from you is  _ mine _ .”

“ _ Tony _ .”

Laughter, hearty and honest as it echoes through the bedchamber. A soft  _ thud  _ and Tony wears a victorious smile. Auburn hair he sweeps to one side for the smile that delights his heart, it always has. Pepper Potts has his heart. Beautiful, intelligent, trustworthy. If he had any sense of commitment about him, he would ask her to marry him in a heartbeat. If she had any optimism about his commitment, she would accept his proposal without any hesitation. In truth, neither has ever dared to venture the topic.

“ _Lord_ _Jarvis_ has only good things to say about your sister,” she smiles, wrapping a sheet around herself. “That bodes well for tonight’s ball. Which I have to finish preparing for.”

“You have staff for that, Lady Potts.” Tony insists, pulling her back against his chest, still slick with sweat.

“And they must all be wondering where I am.”

Protests that eventually, Tony concedes to. Pepper’s authority is too great to refuse. A truth that has always amused them. Lord Stark, ever the secret submissive to Lady Potts. And it’s easy to see why, there’s nothing but admiration in the way he watches her redress. Respect, not just for her title in society, but the woman he has the privilege of knowing. Dull pain hardens his heart as he readies to take his leave, too.

“See yourself out quietly, please,” she smiles. “Goodbye, Tony.”

One final smile is all Pepper offers, before disappearing behind the almost silent snap of the door. Deep lungfuls of air, an attempt to even out her breath that Tony Stark always manages to snatch. The man she harbours affection for. The man she sneaks into her bedroom. The man no-one will ever know of. Least of all her good friend that awaits her presence in the study. 

“Most guests would meet me in the drawing room,” she trills, not without a smile. “But, you aren’t just a guest. You are a sight for my sore eyes, Bucky.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Pepper.”

“Oh, hardly anyone calls me that anymore.”

“Just as hardly anyone calls me Bucky.”

“No, I don’t suppose they would call the Duke of Brookland by his childhood nickname.”

James Buchanan Barnes, the Duke of Brookland. Affectionately known as Bucky. A man of noble title and respected lineage, well educated and wealthy, and devastatingly handsome. Beauty carved by the Gods. A strongly angled jaw, skimmed by the few strands of dark hair that have escaped their ribbon. Piercing eyes, grey-blue and swimming with the words he often withholds. And a smile, rare as it is, but no less full of charm. Formalities he’s well versed on matter little when he’s in the company of Pepper. Not that it matters, she needs no real effort to persuade him.

“My condolences,” she says with a gesture at a chair. “For your father’s death.”

“Condolences for what?” he retorts, with a look of playful disbelief. “You hated him just as much as I did.”

“But, I loved your mother. She loved me as her own, too.”

Silence settles in the study. Brief pause that allows Bucky a stroll through the room. Elegance more than extravagance, small indications of Lady Potts’ wealth that allows her to indulge in changing fashions. Fresh flowers on the desk and ornate figures on the fireplace. Polished picture frames and an elaborate candleholder. Nothing pleases him more than noting that the only constant is the books. Tomes he recognises instantly, characters that have been his friends longer than people. Though he has his back to Pepper, she knows he’s smiling.

“I am to host a ball this evening,” Pepper is the first to break their comfortable quiet. “The opening of the season.”

“Do not tell me all of London expects an appearance.” Bucky whirls around, positively aghast at the thought.

“Not all of London,” she reassures, assuming her seat behind the desk. “Only myself and I won’t hear a single refusal. Are we at an understanding?”

“Unfortunately.”

**_First impressions are of utmost importance and any young debutante in the possession of a highly coveted invitation to the ball at Potts House would do well to make the right kind. For it is the night that she will be remembered for as long as the season continues. And if she has any determination about her, she will secure her future all within a dance or two with London’s most eligible bachelors. Reader, take heed, for Lady Potts is of sharp eye and sound mind, she possesses a unique ability to identify an ideal match, but not nearly as much as I. Make no mistake, dear reader, you will hear it here first._ **

Potts House is a sight to behold. Though you’ve passed it many times before, it pales in comparison to this. White stone against an inky sky, flickering flames set shadows dancing against chiselled architecture. Happily alive with the bustle of carriages. Young ladies arrive with their mamas. Young gentlemen in a display of their chivalry. Cool night barely a shiver down your spine as you drink it all in. Nerves nowhere to be found tonight. In its stead, confidence, courtesy of the Queen. And it’s noticeable to both of your brothers.

Tony and Steve. You have a hand in each of their arms, as much a comfort to you as it is a show of protection from them. Steve’s smile is awash with awe and Tony less so. He’s steadfast in guiding you inside, sparing only a polite nod to the guests you pass and you suppose you will have to admire the entrance hall at the end of the party. And what a party it is. 

Sparkles of diamonds, cascades of champagne, harmonious melodies of violins, harps, the pianoforte. Chatters that are flirtatious in nature, smiles that could be considered coquettish if it wasn’t for the ever present chaperones. There’s a dance in full swing. Yet, time itself seems to slow and you can’t help but smile as every pair of eyes turns to you.

You’re beautiful, in an  _ anarkali _ suit. The frock is salmon pink, organza that fits to your waist and flows out in a full skirt. Gold embroidered hem that matches wide flared pants in a shade of champagne. Sequins and motifs detail the wrists and neckline. The perfect contrast in a pastel green  _ dupatta _ that drapes over your shoulder. Traditional yet modern, it suits you.

There’s not a single gentleman who doesn’t have his eye on you. Thankfully, Wanda’s is the first you catch, but it quickly turns into a look of confusion. You don’t recognise the young woman beside her, though her flame red hair is quite stunning. Her smile is serene but you’re under the impression she’s studying you and not wanting to be rude, you smile back politely. Though your first thought is to join your friend, you’re stopped by custom. And your brothers.

“The men are all staring at you because they desire you,” Tony surmises, squaring his shoulders. “And the ladies because they wish to be you.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Steve questions, far more cheerfully. “Calm yourself, Tony. Let us take a turn about the room, sister.”

To take a turn about the room, you know this is a clever suggestion. An invitation for introductions, a chance to display your beauty, all under the supervision of your brothers. Unwittingly, it proves to be an exercise in patience. Steve listens to your comments and responds with courteous smiles for the men you point out. While he’s not careless, he’s certainly more approachable. Unlike Tony, who seems to have the sole purpose of tearing apart the faults of every man in your path. You can see it’s partly his disinterest, his gaze tends to drift and you can’t help but wonder what he searches for when he doesn’t pay any of the debutantes the attention they want from him. His efforts are finally stopped with the approach of a woman.

“Good evening, Lady Potts.” Steve greets, dropping into a low bow and Tony is somewhat slower, but he falls forward into equal respect.

“Miss Stark,” Pepper smiles, amusement dancing in her eyes between your brothers. “You look more beautiful than ever tonight. I hope to see you dance before the night is up. Preferably with a handsome young man befitting of you and not one of your brothers.”

Tony’s quick tongue has a politely sassy remark at the ready, but he’s spared by the appearance of Bruce who luckily, has a much happier countenance. He’s barely greeted Pepper when she excuses herself and Tony is left to stare after her, no doubt disappointed with the missed opportunity to banter. Bruce, too, makes himself scarce and though it’s because he spots a friend, his eyes don’t look far from the flame red hair you spied earlier, too. Steve nudges Tony to discuss the same thing and with permission, you excuse yourself to fetch a drink.

“Miss Stark.”

You regret it immediately, an involuntary shiver running down your spine as you turn to face Lord Rumlow. The smile on his face is more of a devious smirk, danger behind it that you don’t care to entertain. He’s quite the decorated soldier, but what others have called bravery on the battlefield, you would call ruthlessness. There’s darkness to him and it scares you.

“Lord Rumlow,” you reply out of mere courtesy. “My apologies, I see my brother and he is summoning me. I wish you a pleasant evening.”

Rumlow isn’t as eager to let you go so soon. It’s improper, but he reaches for your hand and you’re swift enough to slip by with only a graze of his fingers. He calls your name, requests a moment of your time and you feign ignorance. You quicken your pace, heart thumping erratically as you hurry away. But still, he’s persistent. Heavy footsteps follow you and you start to feel sick, throat dry as you glance back at him. And in your desperation to escape, you throw yourself into a thick wall of muscle at full force.

“My apologies, I- ” you begin, words trailing off until you remember yourself. “I beg your pardon.”

“Oh? Is that it?”

You frown. Handsome as your hapless victim is, his bitter laugh is undeserved. You forget all about Rumlow, and arguably, your manners.

“I am not sure what you mean. I only wish to apologise, for my attention was diverted.”

“Unfortunately for you, this is not a new trick and you are not the first lady to employ it tonight.”

“How arrogant of you, sir. Tell me, what is your name?”

Your innocent question is met with boredom. You’re quite sure he would yawn in your face if it wasn’t for the proper manners that set his shoulders so squarely. As he refuses to answer your question, you take the moment to look him over.

He’s a handsome man.  _ Devastatingly _ so. Steely eyes somewhere between grey and blue, framed by neat lashes. Plump pink lips that are as soft as they look. Strong jawline, smoothly shaven and sharply angled that you yearn to brush your fingertips over it. A cleft in his chin, some might see it as an imperfection but it’s frustratingly adorable. He’s tall and strong, dashing in his military uniform. Forest green and immaculately pressed, the decorations must rank him a Sergeant. The hat is tucked in his left arm, a single black leather glove over his hand that you question as your eyes meet his once more. Despite how offensive his arrogance is, he’s beautiful.

“Are you quite done?” he snaps in the same bored tone as before. “Or should I allow you a minute longer? I recommend committing my likeness to your memory as this is the only time you shall look upon me.”

“Oh, I assure you, my memory is quite content without a place for you in it. You may keep your name, too. I imagine I should forget it anyway.”

“Bucky Barnes!”

“Steve Rogers!”

Unsightly, but you cannot help your mouth dropping open in surprise as your brother greets the man with all the forwardness of a good friend. The pair exchange an embrace, hands slapping each other’s backs loudly before they draw back with matching grins. You look on in quiet shock. Steve is kind and good, how could he ever keep the company of someone so painfully rude? 

“I suppose I should address you formally,” Steve teases, though not unkindly. “You will always be Bucky to me. But, now, you are the Duke of Brookland.”

“The Duke of Brookland, is it?”

Your interruption is one of surprise and mild irritation. More at yourself than him. You chide yourself for not recognising him, though he is notoriously elusive and private. But before either of you can comment on what has passed between you, Steve lifts a brotherly hand to your shoulders. And Bucky mirrors your surprise as he learns that you’re Steve’s sister. You arch a brow, daring him to say something, daring him to behave just as crudely as he did moments before. He’s silent, as if he’s thinking about it, but he doesn’t open his mouth again and your smile turns smug. 

The last thing that the Duke of Brookland offers you tonight is a civil nod, accompanied by the murmur of your name. And as Steve leads you back to Tony with plans to meet his old friend at the club, you cannot help one final glance. Heat warms your cheeks because Bucky is allowing himself one final glance of you, too. 

“Miss Stark.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Come say hello on Tumblr](http://uncafeavecbarnes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [These are Miss Stark's dresses in this chapter.](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/uncafeavecbarnes/the-duke-of-brookland/chapter-one/)


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